Star Trek :: A Pinch Of Salt
by MekQuarrie
Summary: Sometimes the past catches up with you. Sometimes by chance. Sometimes by design. The Vulcans? They use the phone-book. :: 2 of 2 Chs. :: 'BoomBox' image reworked from wikimedia Commons.
1. Chapter 1

"What happened?" said Zack. "What happened!" He felt his throat getting sore. He must be shouting. "Help!" But he had to shout.

He wiped the dirt and fibers from his eyes. At least he could still see. The buckled roof of the Mercury was touching his head. At least his brain was still in his skull.

The seat of his automobile was twisted, but his back was only sore, his arms intact, his legs fully functioning. He was alive. The car behind had piled into his rear fender and he had rammed uncontrollably into the Toyota pickup in front. Now he remembered the shaking of the road and the wheels wobbling into a side-to-side skid.

A face appeared at the dirty glass of the driver door. Zack could see the man wore the heavy coat and hard-hat of the Fire Department. Zack did not know if he had been knocked out for any length of time, but surely the firefighter had arrived surprisingly quickly at the middle of a bridge only seconds after an earthquake? Zack was not going to worry too much about it.

The rescuer's long hand wiped the dirt and oil from the outside. He looked blankly into Zack's eyes and noted the face. He looked away and mouthed a few words to another unseen person. On a clear, undisturbed day, Zack would have read the lips clearly; might have been more certain. But today, he could only guess at an unlikely and unfriendly phrase. "The punk."

**:::**

Now there were two firefighters, one pulling firmly at the side of the doorframe, the other manipulating the buckled roof. Their faces were plain, but they looked similar, not quite brothers, but similar.

The oldest one looked in the window again. He met Zack's eyes directly and spoke clearly. "Are your limbs trapped? We can pull you out."

Zack nodded, then felt the pressure released from around his arms as the twisted door fell from the frame. "Thanks," he said as firmly as he could. The two men reached in and placed their hands on his shoulders and neck, holding him temporarily back in the seat. The more senior man reached behind Zack's head. There was a glimpse of a little test instrument, maybe a thermometer.

"No neck collar?" Zack queried. "I don't want to end up with another handicap."

The younger one mouthed "You're good" and they hauled him out of the remains of his Mercury.

Zack stood on the deck feeling nauseous. "Aren't you going to help anyone else?" He held his aching head. He could see more of the cars behind him had crashed into each other and into the superstructure. But in front of him the upper road level had collapsed onto the traffic. It wasn't pretty. There was even a school-bus.

"We'll start with you first, if you don't mind," said the first rescuer.

Zack felt the urge to leave. If these weird rescuers wanted to take him first, he was not going to argue. "Let's go."

He felt drowsy and the city around him blurred and disappeared.

**:::**

The TV News was showing helicopter footage of the damage around the city, frequently returning to the collapse on the Bay Bridge. From his armchair, Zack sat blinking. He could see that it was a disaster, and that he had narrowly missed a serious injury. He blinked again and shook his head catching sight of someone stood at the little window beside the front door.

Zack realized he was not alone in his apartment. It was the older man. He still wore the S.F.F.D. overalls but the heavier jacket was hung carefully on one of the hooks on the back of the door. The hard hat had gone, but he wore a knitted hat over his hair and ears.

"I'm sorry," the visitor mouthed again. "I asked if you need painkillers? For your head."

Zack was very particular about when he took chemicals. "No thanks." Bush appeared on the screen announcing the Federal response to the quake. "Turn him off," Zack growled. "Federal assistance, my ass. Worthless."

Outside the picture window, a tiny humming-bird was casually attending to the leaves of a shrub Zack had tried to cut back. This part of the Bay Area seemed less affected than the city, but flashing combinations of blue and red lights were passing in a constant stream. No doubt the sirens were being exercised heavily too. But with the room lights off and the midday sun streaming in, it might have been any other ordinary day in the Fall.

**:::**

"When I tell people I live in Marin County they think I'm rich. But I'm sure you saw on the way up here. There are plenty of areas at the bottom end of the social ladder." He turned from the window. "How'd you know where I live?"

The guest stayed by the door looking thru the small window at the parking lot behind the building. He looked completely at home in Zack's tiny condo. They exchanged a look.

"You revealed your domestic location when we were pulling you from the automobile." Zack focussed hard on the weird lips. Something about the highly controlled speech confirmed what he knew.

"That's a lie," he laughed. "You must have done a lot of research just to turn over my apartment. Take what you want. No-one loves me enough to pay a ransom and I'll be no good as a sex slave. Ask my ex-girlfriend, on both counts."

The visitor's face revealed only a flat look. He raised an eyebrow and pressed his mouth into the limpest of smiles. "Of course. This is Earth - local - humor. I find this amusing too."

"So, why are you here?" Zack ventured.

The door thudded open. The younger man from the bridge and a young woman entered, both dressed as firefighters, exhausted and covered in oil and blood. "I'm sorry Mestral. We would have been quicker, but little Maggie had to assist with other vehicles."


	2. Chapter 2

"A most illogical approach, Maggie. And our contribution was negligible."

The young man pulled the heavy coat from his shoulders and threw it to the floor. Dust and soot were caked all over it.

"Your observations are irrelevant, Scott," said Maggie. "We were able to provide sufficient assistance until the official response arrived." She swigged heartily from a plastic sports bottle and slumped onto the recliner by the picture window, ignoring Zack who stood right beside her doing his best to understand their bickering.

"Don't let me stop any further heroics you had planned." Scott wiped his forehead.

"Enough squabbling," said Mestral. "Family should work together." He symbolically rapped his fingertips on the tabletop. He nodded firmly to his companions and they nodded agreement without further dissent.

"If you guys want to move in, I'm happy to split the rent," Zack noted. "Just hang your coats on the pegs provided and don't laugh at my goth friends when they come round." He looked from one face to another, suppressing his frustration behind a fake smile. But no-one replied.

"I must apologize," said Mestral. "We had hoped to approach you in less chaotic circumstances. I anticipated some sort of geological incident. But these things are never precise."

"So you did specifically come for me? That's a new one." Zack knew he was outnumbered if things turned weird - or more weird to be precise - but he was afraid of very little.

"I am sorry you were trapped in your car," said Mestral. He waved his hand to the younger ones and pointed to the small kitchen recess. "Coffee. Black. Hot. Now."

**:::**

Mestral sat down at the little kitchen table, steam drifting up from the big cup in front of him. He gestured to the stool opposite where a second cup of the steaming brew stood. Zack declined the offer. "You sustained an injury a few years ago?" Mestral began.

"I've been in a few fights, man. I can handle myself." He gripped his left wrist and flexed it as if preparing to punch.

"But you were not always audio impaired?" Mestral was clear, as before.

"What's that?" Zack replied cupping his ear.

Mestral tried to mouth his words more clearly. "I said: you were not born with…" As Zack laughed he could see there had been another humorous intervention. "Ah. This is another poor taste joke. I understand."

Zack laughed to himself. "Whatever, man."

"About three years ago, you were involved in an altercation on a public transit vehicle."

Zack raised his own eyebrow. He remembered a lot of aggravation on a lot of public vehicles. But one in particular could not be forgotten. "Yeah. Yeah, that hurt a lot."

"We work for a charitable foundation." Mestral left his answer hanging then sat back in his chair. Scott sighed visibly in the background.

Zack started wagging his finger. "You're not religious nuts are you? The kind who see every disaster as a chance to make friends."

"No. We see our role as a quiet one, operating in the background."

"What was quiet about attacking me on a bus? I was only listening - listening! - to my music." He moved to the refrigerated cabinet that held only cheese, milk, soda and a short six-pack of beer.

"Our ambassador acted out of character. He had been gravely ill. We would like to make some amend for your discomfort."

Zack pulled a can of _Old Milwaukee_ from the plastic rings. "Ambassador? That's a weird kind of diplomacy." He placed the remaining cans in the small box of the fridge. Before he closed the door, he nodded to Mestral. "You want one? I don't have any other reward to offer."

"No, we don't want to keep you long. We wish to talk of compensation." Mestral opened his hands wide.

"You rescued me to give me money?" Zack tried not to show that he was furious.

"It's more of a package," Mestral mouthed. "A trust in your name. Annual payments for living costs. Monthly instalments if required. And a college fund." He continued "I can personally recommend UC Berkeley. Once repairs have been effected to the campus, of course."

"Just leave. Thanks for not leaving me to die. There's your payback. Things would have been easier for you I'm sure if you'd just left me. If you've got a waiver, I'll sign it. Then go."

Mestral leaned back nodding. "Papers will not be necessary. I do have some advice then. All those jobs you apply for in the Valley? You should turn up for at least one of those interviews. With a tie."

Zack shook his head laughing.

**:::**

The three visitors muttered as they pulled on their jackets. Zack ignored them and tried to get the remote to show the closed captions on the music channel. He could just about tolerate MTV if he was able to criticize the lyrics.

Maggie leaned over the back of the chair and put her face close to his. "I could attempt to reverse the damage caused by Ambassador Spock," she whispered. She looked intently at Zack's facial shape, then assessed the shoulder and collarbone. He noted the close-knit woolen cap that barely covered her ears. "There is a completely unethical technique I could use to flex the bones of your skull. It is similar to being punched in the face, but you might hear again."

Zack thought she might be threatening him. "I thought I was the deaf one. I want you to go. I need to get my head straight, on my own. Then there are some people I need to check up on. Hopefully they're not dead. If I want to help them I'll do it in my own way. Not with legal papers and quick fix medicine."

Maggie shrugged her shoulders and smiled slightly. "Later," she said. "And buy better coffee if you want people to come round."

Mestral gestured to her. Zack could see that he and Scott were already on the porch. "I wish you long life and prosperity Zack," Mestral said almost to himself.

Zack turned back to the TV set. "Whatever," he replied.


End file.
